


Light in the Dark

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Bittersweet, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Isolation, Poor Anders, Solitary Confinement, Torture, Violence/Rape Hinted at but Not Explicit, mentions of abandonment, teleporting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-07-19 19:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7374061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is pushed to the brink of human suffering while enduring a year of solitary confinement in the Circle.<br/>Hawke uses her time-traveling magic to come visit him, and give him some company and reassurance about his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content Advisory: I write dark and sick stories as an outlet for the secondary PTSD that sometimes builds up due to my work as a trauma counselor. If stories involving suffering and abuse disturb you, please use discretion with reading my works. You've been warned! :)
> 
> Also, comments = love <3

Anders shivered in his solitary confinement cell. Fuck the Templars. Fuck them all. He had harmed no one, caused no one pain--by any definition of justice, he did not deserve to be here. He'd been rotting in this torture chamber, wasting precious days and weeks and months of his life, for almost a full year. All for the crime of trying to run away, of wanting to see the sunlight, of yearning for friends, of the basic human longing to be happy and free.

For almost a year, he'd had no human contact. None at all. He lived his days in a cell barely wide enough to lie down in, dark save for a sliver of light from under the door, infested with rats and roaches that bit him in the night. He wore only a tattered pair of breeches, and constantly shivered with cold. Once every two or three days, the Templars would shove some spoiled leftovers through a narrow slit in the door. It was barely enough sustenance to keep him alive and conscious, but did nothing to soothe the constant gnawing pain in his stomach. Sometimes, when he hugged himself to remind himself that he was alive, his fingers traced the jutting bones of his ribs and spine. He felt weak. Worthless. Pathetic.

Anders hissed and tried to divert his thoughts. He could not afford to think those thoughts. He had to stay strong, but how? How could he, in this place with no one to talk to? 

A flashback came to his mind, of the day he was twelve years old and burned down the barn. He didn't mean to. He hadn't even known he *had* magic until that day, let alone knew how to control it. He had cried with terror and confusion, as he told his parents over and over that he didn't mean to, that he was sorry, that he would do anything to fix it. He had just wanted to go home. But instead, his father had grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him roughly towards the Templars, telling them to take the demon off his hands before he could hurt the rest of the family. He'd tried to run to his mother, for surely she would understand, but instead she just crossed her arms and stiffly turned away.

He curled up on the stone floor and prayed that sleep would come, but it didn't. It almost never did. The Templars liked to bang on his door in the middle of the night during their patrol rounds. They liked to hound his sleep and mock him. The worst was each week when they came in to "wash" him--really this just consisted of ripping his pants off and hosing him down with a high-pressure hose of ice water. Sometimes they did...other things to him. Things that made him want to crawl in a hole and die.

He sat up and dug his fingernails into his hands. Why? The whole world already hated him--why must his own mind turn on him too? What had he done to deserve this? Why had he even been born?

Suddenly an orb of reddish-colored light filled up the cell. Anders turned around. Surely this was a dream, either that or a hallucination--which he had more and more of, as he slowly lost his mind.

At least this time, the hallucination wasn't horrifying. It was actually quite nice, and Anders wished it was real so badly that a painful lump swelled up in his throat.

A pretty young woman around Anders' own age sat in the corner of the room. She wore combat pants and boots and a tank top with metal gauntlets on both arms, but she had soft, flowing raven hair and kind eyes. A narrow red scar, deep yet tidy, cut across her nose. Her sea-blue eyes met his, and she smiled.

"Hello." She reached out a hand and touched his own, lacing their fingers together.

Anders choked on the lump in his throat. His hallucinations rarely spoke to him, and never with kindness. And they never, ever touched him. He tried to return the greeting, but couldn't. 

"It will be all right, darling." Her voice was soothing and had compassion, but not pity. She saw him as a friend, as an equal, as a man, not as the pathetic creature the Templars always made him feel like.

Anders slumped towards her and nuzzled his head into her lap, craving for more of her touch. After all, this wasn't real. It could slip away in seconds. He could hold on to the dream while it lasted, and pretend that another human wanted to be in his presence, that he was loved, even if it was only imaginary.

Her hands moved to stroke his hair. "It's all right," she said again. "I'm an apostate mage, just like you are. I can time travel, and I'm here now to tell you it'll be all right. I'm your lover, in the future, and I promise you you'll get out of here."

Anders couldn't stop the tears now. He snuffled to hide them. How could he describe how deeply he longed for that to be true? But it was a cruel trick, by the Templars, and surely they would descend on him with a new barrage of torments at the exact moment he let himself believe.

The girl went on. "You'll meet me, and we'll fall in love, and you'll have friends who love you too. You'll run a healing clinic and save people and have purpose. You'll go on adventures that will make your life exhilarating. And, someday, you'll even blow up this godforsaken place."

Anders wrapped his hands around the girl's waist, and she hugged him back tightly and kissed his head. She felt firm and soft at the same time, and she smelled like the outdoors and the electrical tang of magic, with a hint of a perfume that made him want to lick every inch of her.

But all too soon, the solidness of her form began to fade. Her embrace remained, but he couldn't hold her anymore, like she was transforming from a real human to an image made of mist.

"I'm sorry," she whispered with tears in her eyes. "These spells don't last long. I wish I could stay. I wish that with every bit of my soul. But remember, you will survive this place. We'll find each other. I love you."

"Please," Anders managed to croak out, but she was gone.

He remained alone, in the dark room, with the roaches and the rats. He could not stop the tears that coursed down his face, or the way his body shook with a hollow, agonizing ache that he didn't know the word for. But then, in the light that came from under the door, he saw something else. Something on the floor, where the illusion of the girl had been.

Anders reached over to pick it up. It was a red bandana, a simple strip of ruby-colored cloth. He breathed in its scent. It smelled like clean linen, with her perfume.

Anders clutched the fabric as tightly as he could. Maybe he was crazy--perhaps, if not surely, his hallucinations had reached a new level.

He stroked its soft texture. If the Templars found it, they would torture him with whips and knives and demand where he got it.  
He shook his head. He was getting too far ahead of himself. He couldn't let himself think that any of this was real.  
But the floor of his cell had a tiny hole in the corner, from which the rats came, and he hid the cloth inside where it would remain concealed.  
Maybe, just maybe, if he dared to check later, it would be there.  
And maybe he could have something to hope for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Anders. I promise he'll get out of Solitary eventually in this fic.

Anders was on Day 4 of no food. Normally the Templars pushed rotten scraps under the door every two days, but not long after his visit with the raven-haired girl, they'd started extending his feedings to every three days instead. He'd passed the entire day yesterday biting the flesh of his own arm and trying to ward off tears, praying to the Maker that food would soon come.   
Four days. He knew by the number of teeth marks he'd bitten into his skin, one for each day to mark his torment.  
He closed his eyes and let himself conjure up images of the girl. He'd already made peace with the fact that she probably wasn't real. That she was just an illusion, made by his desperate mind to offer him a shred of comfort. But in moments like this, with no hope, he allowed the illusions to distract him from hell.

A hard slap cut across his face. He moaned and struggled his way up to a sitting position, realizing he had fallen asleep. After four days of no food, even small motions took all the energy in his bones.  
"You were talking in your sleep about abominable things," snarled the lead Templar. "About some devilish witch with a red scar across her face who came in the night to talk with you."  
Anders swayed side to side, fighting not to slump back into sleep. He opened his mouth, but the ability to speak had left him.  
The Templar slapped his face again. "Answer us!" he yelled. "What kind of magic have you been cursing this place with?"  
Anders shook with a mixture of frustration, anger and fear. He tried to defend himself, but four days of no water had caused his tongue to stick to the roof of his mouth.  
"Fine," snapped the Templar. "We'll do this the hard way, then."  
The Templar ripped Anders' shirt off, and then the whip came down. He tried not to scream as his skin broke. The whip came down again. And again. And again. The copper stench of blood filled the cell, and then he was in blackness.

A soft hand shook him awake.   
He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to escape to the sweet abyss of sleep, perhaps forever. A human touch could only mean one thing--more pain, more torture, more suffering to make him wish he had never existed.  
The hand shook him again, and then a warm human shape leaned down to hug him. The faint smell of trees, magic and perfume made his heart pound faster with hope.  
He allowed his eyes to open. The girl sat before him again.   
A drop of water landed on the ground in front of him, and he realized it was tears flooding down his own face. He tried to form words, but couldn't with his swollen and cracked tongue. Please be real, he prayed to the Maker and to every god and goddess he had heard of. Please let this woman be real. Please let her help me.

She reached out and stroked his face with her hand. "It's all right, love," she said. "I know you can't talk. I'm going to help you--I'll show you how my magic works, and you can come to my dimension the way I came to yours."  
He dared to look into her eyes, into the beautiful blue pools of soul above her neat red scar. He was terrified that she would disappear, like a mirage, but she didn't.   
"It's called astral projection," she said. "Take my hands in yours, and let me transfer the energy to you. You'll feel your spirit coming out of your body, and once you're on the outside, just let me guide you and take you home."  
He nodded. Her presence had given him hope and strength, but still, four days of no food plus the blood loss from his whipping had made him too weak to lift his arms.

She lifted his hands, and gently kissed each one before entwining her fingers together with his. Soon, Anders felt a warm energy ebbing through his body, from her essence to his. He had never felt warm before. The starvation, plus the lack of decent sleep and no blankets, with only his thin and ragged clothing against the freezing air of his cell, caused him to be in a constant state of cold. But now the warmth was soothing, and comforting.  
He felt himself rising out of his physical form, and for a moment, he wondered if he was dead. He saw his physical self lying slumped on the floor, clad only in trousers with his back ravaged with infected wounds. His ribs jutted out like those of a dead man.   
"Don't focus on that," whispered the girl. "Don't worry, soon you'll be out of this hell, and I'll give you this break for as long as I can."  
Her hands gripped his, and she led him up and out of the cell, and into a spinning vortex of all kinds of colors, plus new ones that Anders had never seen before.   
"The spell only lasts so long," she said as they traveled. "Trust me, I wish I could make it last forever. But we've got a few hours. And trust me--in just a few more months, your sentence will be done, and we meet each other not long after that. We'll be able to spend every day and night together for the rest of our lives, and kill any Templar that tries to come near us."

The swirling colors around them faded away, and they stood in a magnificent master bedroom suite. It had a rich golden-colored carpet with gold walls, and a large four-poster bed covered in plush red blankets. A steaming hot-tub bubbled in one corner, and incense and candles burned from on top of the dresser.   
"This is my house," said the woman proudly. "My family fled here from Lothering with nothing but the clothes on our backs after the Blight, but I worked hard and now we're here. Sit down. I'll bring you some food."

Anders walked slowly across the room, amazed at the fact that he could walk without pain. He sat gingerly on the edge of her bed, not used to such finery, and not wanting to dirty the sheets with sweat and grime.  
The door swung open and the girl came back in, balancing a tray in her hands. She slid over to join him on the bed.   
"Here's some tea," she said, lifting a tall mug from the tray. "It will help keep you replenished on the other side, too, when...you know, until next time."  
Anders drank eagerly from the cup, not wanting to think about this night having to end. The tea was cool and sweet, and healed the gnawing pain in his throat.   
The girl fed him fruit and cheese and pastries and savory cuts of meat. Then she hugged him and planted a kiss at the top of his head.

"We ought to heal those wounds," she murmured. "Will you let me?"  
Anders nodded, and she guided him to relax on her bed. She got some potions and herbs and began a massage of his whip wounds, slowly kissing each one as she finished healing it.  
The tears threatened to escape his eyes again. It had been far too long since he had been touched so kindly--with care, and with healing, and perhaps even with love. He wanted this moment to never end.

The girl finished healing his wounds, and pulled him gently to his feet. She glanced to the hot tub, and a mischievous grin worked its way across her face.  
"We ought to have some fun," she said. "Maker knows you've gone too long without it. Would you like to bathe together?"  
All the breath in his lungs left him at once. He felt numb, as though the whole world went still, except for his heart pounding furiously inside his chest. With her standing so close to him, he could smell her sweet tangy magic and delicious perfume and the fresh, invigorating scent of her flesh. What he wouldn't give to kiss her down her neck, to slowly take off her clothing while she removed his, to make her respond to his touch. How long had it been since a woman had touched him in that way? On the day the Templars dragged him to isolation, he had given up on ever knowing it again.  
He nodded, trying not to scare her with too much enthusiasm. She returned his smile and stepped closer, placing her warm firm arms around his newly-healed back. She leaned up and kissed his ear, slowly trailing kisses down to his chain.

But then he began to fade.

A jolt of horror swept through him as he found himself being pulled against his will, away from her, slowly up toward the ceiling. As he watched helplessly, the room began to fade.

"Oh no." The girl's face fell. "I'm so sorry, love. I wish I could make this spell last forever."

He tried to call to her, but his form was growing less and less real, and no words could escape his mouth.

"I'm sorry," she called again, as the room faded away. "Please have strength. Soon your hell will be over. I promise, Anders, I promise I will keep coming back."

The final remnants of the room turned to darkness, but a faint echo of her voice remained.   
"I love you," she called through the darkness.

When he opened his eyes, he was back in his cell.   
Despair crashed through him like tidal waves, and he screamed, raw like an animal.


	3. Chapter 3

Five nights later, the girl with the red scar came back to him again.

He was curled up in the corner of his cell, shivering, trying in vain to conjure up some warmth for himself. But his efforts thus far had done no good. Anders needed energy to cast magic, and he didn't have enough with the Templars feeding him just a few scraps every 3-4 days. 

She touched his shoulder, and he jolted up with a mixture of shock and joy. 

"Hi, sweetheart," she said, and gave a soft purring hum. She picked up both of Anders' arms, wrapped them around herself, and snuggled up close to him so that they were lying down together fitted like spoons. "I missed you."

Anders breathed deeply into her hair, tasting the magic and perfume and sweat and the natural scent of her flesh. He fought back a whimper and held her close, instead, as he moved his lips from her hair to kiss down her neck. The girl twitched with pleasure and wrapped her legs and arms around him, hugging him close.

"I'll stay right here with you," she whispered. "As long as I can."

Joy flooded through Anders. He knew he couldn't speak without weeping, and he did not want her to see him weep. So instead of talking, he ran his hands through her gorgeous hair and down her spine and up to rub her shoulders.

She made a quiet moan of pleasure at his touch. Anders stared at her beautiful form, at her faint red aura, and in that moment he felt like he was in paradise. He was able to forget the mold in the corners, and the lack of light, and the whispering roaches skittering up the walls. All that mattered was the beautiful mage girl curled up with him, and the fact that she existed and chose to come spend her time with him. Anders realized that if the world blew up, right now, he wouldn't even care, as long as she was the one person to survive.

"I love you," she whispered gently. Then she lifted her head up to kiss Anders' neck.

He wanted to talk, but knew he would only cry instead, so he just squeezed her tighter.

"I love you," she said again. She kissed him on his lips, and then on his chin, and then down his neck again. "You might not know why, but that's okay. I have lots of reasons to love you. I love you because you use your magic to save people and heal them. Because you care about good souls besides just your own. Because you have a passion for justice, and a drive to make the world a better place." She kissed him again. "And because you save me. You've saved me dozens of times, and you make my life better with each day that we share together. I love you, Anders."

Now he couldn't stop the tears from leaking from his eyes. "How do you know my name?"

"It doesn't matter, sweetheart. It will all make sense on the day you meet me." She pushed herself up to a sitting position, but straddling Anders, so that she sat on top of his chest with her legs wrapped around his middle. A mischevious grin took over her face. "But first, take this off."

His breath stuck in his throat. "What?"

"My shirt," she whispered. She took Anders' hands in her own and slid his hands up to her chest. He touched her breasts over her shirt, barely able to breathe, and then she led his hands to the top of her shirt where the buttons held her tunic together. "You can take it off, darling. I have a few hours before I'll fade back."

Anders slid her shirt off. Her red breastband was under it, and she nodded consent for him to remove that, too. He stared at the sight in front of him, and it was like his mind had frozen. He realized that for the first time in his life, he wasn't thinking about pain, or suffering, or feeling alone. His mind was not in a place of pain, for the first time ever.

This girl truly was his savior. And he wanted to hold her forever, until the day he died.

"You're so beautiful," he finally managed to choke out. He stared at her firm, creamy breasts and their purple-red peaks like rosebuds in the centers. He wrapped both his arms around her waist, and brought her tumbling down on top of him so that her chest was in front of his face. She shrieked and giggled with the motion, and then he brought his mouth to her nipple and sucked, and then she arched her back and moaned.

Anders closed his eyes and felt like he was floating on stars. He felt like he had made it to heaven.

And then there was pounding at the door.

The girl rolled off of Anders and quickly put her shirt back on. Her eyes were wide with fear.

"Open up, you filthy mage!" came the angry Templars' voice. 

The girl glanced around the room, but there was nowhere for her to hide. Anders felt sick with horror. She had said she had a few hours before she would fade back, but what would happen to her during that time? And what would the Templars do to him?

Their keys jiggled in the lock, and then the door flung open.

The lead Templar licked his lips. "What the hell do we have here?"

The other Templar shone his lantern over the girl's shivering body. Anders wanted to hug and and tell her it would be all right, but he knew it wouldn't be. He'd always seen her as an angel above everything, but now she looked so small, so cold, so afraid.

"Black magic," said the Templar with the lantern. "He must have conjured her up from some other dimension like the demon he is. Well, she looks good enough. I don't recall giving our prisoner permission to enjoy himself." He smirked with a sadistic grin. "Shall we break in his new toy?"


	4. Chapter 4

The girl, Anders’ savior, stood up in one sleek motion and faced the Templars. “Break me in? I dare you to fucking try.”

The Templars glanced at each other, uncertain by her boldness. 

“That’s right. Fucking stand there and be afraid.” She summoned a ball of mana in the palm of her hand. “You *should* be afraid. The Maker sent me here from the heavens. And if you hurt Anders again, I’ll come back and send you to hell.”

“This is some maleficar trick,” stammered out the lead jailer. “The robe summoned her as an illusion. We just need to punish him harder and--”

“And here’s what will happen,” finished Hawke. “You will let him out of this cell. You will give him three square meals a day, and proper clean clothing, and blankets that are warm enough to get some comfort in this place. You will let him out to interact with the other mages. Better yet, you’ll give him his own private room in the halls above here. And you’ll treat him with the dignity he deserves as a human being. I’m the fucking Champion of Kirkwall and I’m more powerful than every other mage in here combined. You hurt Anders again, and I’ll shrink all of your dicks to one inch each.”

The Templars stood in stunned silence. Hawke turned to Anders and gave him a wink. She mouthed silent words: “soon, you’ll be out of here.”


End file.
